Hello, I Don't Know Who I Am
by Red Dye Number Three
Summary: AU ZexionOC with a side of AkuRoku. Zexion is interviewed about his strange "medical condition" and lack of a love life. And Zexion grows as a person. AWWWW.


Yeah. I've been gone. Sorry. I swear that I didn't mean to totally skip out on my AkuRoku day fic; I just didn't have enought time to finish it.

So, to appease the angry fangirls, I will post a story that I had to write for my Creative Writing class at school. It accidentally turned out as a fanfiction, but I really don't care that it did. All the better for the fangirls, eh?

Anyway, I shall warn thee: THERE IS MENSHUNS OF ZEXION BEING STRAGIHT. STRAIGHT LIKE A LINE, SINCE THOSE AREN'T ALLOWED TO CURVE. Srsly, since I wrote this for school, I didn't make Zexion all fruity and fun. He has effeminate characteristics and habits, but in this story, he's heterosexual. Now, so I didn't go crazy from all the straight people, there are mentions of Axel and Roxas being gay. For each other. But nothing too specific. No kisses, no (as Nimah put it) "Sparkling hot buttsecks," and no Roxas talking. At all. I only let Zexion, Axel, and my new OC talk.

**ANYWAY, I WARN THEE OF GAY AXEL, GAY ROXAS, AND STRAIGHT ZEXION. If any of those three things offend you, then leave. Now. **You won't miss out on a free prize or some juicy secret.

One last thing: I kind of toyed around with writing styles, and the greater part of the story is just Zexion talking aloud. To my OC, who will be named at the end. It's a pretty name. I really like her name. But yeah; talking out loud to OC in an interview. At the line break, it changes to a strange combination of third person and first person. SO ENJOY! :D

* * *

Hello, I'm… Well, I Don't Know

* * *

"Uh, hello. So, how do we do this? Do I just talk and you write everything I say down? Okay, so what if I want you to… oh no, what's that term? They use it in court to get stuff off the record? Oh yeah! Strike it from the record. So yeah, what if I want you to strike something from the record? Why? Because I have a tendency to cuss, you IMMENSELY POLITE AND WONDERFUL PERSON. Y'see? I want that stricken from the record. Hey, if something is taken off and the dialog doesn't make sense, what happens? Seriously? It's just left like that? Huh… Anyway, on with the interview. Will you ask any questions so you can get the stuff that you want? Okay, that's good. So, on with the show, I guess.

"I'm… well, that's the thing. I don't know my name. I just woke up one day in 2005 (it was March thirteenth, I know for a fact) and I _was. _It's hard to explain. My roommate tells me that I had been living with him for three years prior to that, and I didn't show many signs of being weird, but I have no memory of that; at all. I just woke up one day and… I was conscious of my being. It's like a first memory for a child, but I can't understand how mine just occurred when I was… well, I don't know my actual age. I just assume that it's over twenty-one, since my roommate tells me that I would drink beer or wine from time to time. At least I wasn't a heavy drinker… Anyway, my roommate (Axel, by the way. I don't want to keep saying "my roommate" this and "my roommate" that.) Axel said that I owned the apartment by myself before he moved in. He came to me with very little money, but he said that I thought he looked like a good kid that just needed some help. His abridged life story is that he grew up in New Rochelle, NY with his parents, but when he turned eighteen, he told his parents he was gay. They kicked him out on his GLUTEUES MAXIMUS and told him to not come back or contact them. He looked for a place to stay in Chelsea, and found me. He said something about an ad in the local paper…

"When he moved in, he said that I told him that I'd let him stay rent-free if he kept the questions about myself to a minimum. That included name, age, and any other personal info. By the way, he told me all of this stuff in the few days after I "woke up for the first time." You know, the scariest part about waking up like that is how you know how to do everything and you know people and you know where things in your apartment are, but you know nothing of yourself or your family or _anything _like that. I guess that you've heard enough about my… "Spontaneous amnesia," we'll call it.

"Tell about myself? How can I?! I still don't know a thing! Oh, you mean the physical? Yeah, I guess it is hard to tell what I look like if somebody's just reading this. I've got crystal blue eyes. A girl in a bakery downtown described them that way, and I just really liked how it sounded. If I had to convey an emotion or something like that to my eyes, it'd be a tie between knowledge and distrust. I know that I may not seem like an overly friendly guy, but I can trust people. My eyes are just… wired that way, I guess. I'm kind of pale, since I like to stay in my room a lot. I'm a writer, see, and I don't like to get out too much, since I prefer to stay in my room and work on pieces. I've published minor pieces on websites for budding writers to see what would happen, and I get good results each time. What do I like to read? That doesn't matter right now. Back to the physical.

"My hair is strange. It's this purple-y bluish slate color. Axel calls it "shiny-tastic," if that's even an applicable suffix. Now, it's not like I chose to have it this way in the first place, but it's a lot like "emo" hair. I don't even know what "emo" means, but Axel claims it is indeed "emo" hair. It hangs down in front of my right eye, completely blocking it from the world's view. I kept it that way because I'm blind in the right eye, which I'm a little embarrassed about. It's a different color from the left eye, see? I've seen people with two different colored eyes, and they get stared at a lot. I'd rather be stared at for something other than my two different eyes, so I hide it. Yeah, yeah, I know it's really shallow, but I don't care.

"What do I call myself? Well, there's this tattoo of the Roman numeral for six that I found on my hip when I was going to take shower on the second day that I was aware. I didn't notice it on the first day because I was too busy learning about myself from Axel. He finally cut me off from the information stream when he said that he needed to sleep and I needed to shower. Anyway, I found the tattoo, prodded it for twenty or so minutes straight, and then showed Axel. He had never seen it before, since he wouldn't have reason to ever get into my pants. I don't have a sexual relationship with him. I don't even know if I, erhm, "roll that way." I don't even "roll." Back to the tattoo. When I showed it to him, he said (And I remember that he said it this way) "Holy rusty butter knives, Batman! You have a tattoo!" He said that before I "woke up," he would just call me whatever he liked. Sometimes it was boss-lady (My hair was too effeminate of a color to make me boss-man); other times it was Batman, since I don't like light all that much. Anyway, now he either calls me Six or Zex, which is the German word for six. It's not spelled that way, but the German spelling doesn't look like how it sounds. Sometimes, when Axel is feeling particularly zany, he calls me Professor Zexion. See, the '-ion' is "scientific" like the word 'professor,' so it's attached. I must admit, it does have a nice ring to it. But I digress; I prefer just Zex.

"Wait, how would that create problems? For bills and stuff? Oh. Axel owns this place now, since I lack information. The mail, bills, everything is under his name. Driver's license? I don't have one. If I need to go somewhere, I go with Axel, by public transportation, or I walk.

"Oh, I guess I should tell you about the piercings on my face. These I got after I "woke up." It was exactly a year later, to be precise. Axel wanted to have a day to celebrate my birthday on, so we just nailed March thirteenth for lack of a better day. Anyway, he had taken me to a tattoo parlor in the East Village and told me to go nuts. I was already happy with the tattoo that I had, so I decided to get a piercing. I started with my left eyebrow, since that seemed like a… well, a good place to start. The nerves in my ears are sensitive, and my hair often covers them, so nobody'd ever seen them. The year after that, Axel took me back again for another piercing. I got one on the right side of my lip. It really hurt like AN HONORABLE UPSTANDING MEMBER OF THE LOCAL COMMUNITY. Oh, sorry. Can you take that off of the record? The next year, it was another lip piercing to even them out. Next year? I don't know. Maybe a nose stud. Or my septum. That'd be cool…

"No, it's not strange that you haven't heard any stories about my friends! I don't really like to be around people, since most of them aren't that accepting to my… situation, we'll call it. Well, it's not like I'm a freak show or something; like I've committed a crime. It's just that I get too many questions. Axel's friends are good about it, though. His boyfriend Roxas was the first one to meet me after I was aware, and he was pretty cool with it. Just said that he thought it was pretty strange, but dismissed it. He's my unofficial editor from time to time. Yeah, I know, you still haven't heard of _my_ friends. If they're friends with Axel, then they're my friends too. I do have a social life; it's just small. Oh, I go out for drinks with my real editor each month. Her name is Ellen. I won't give a last name, since I don't want her tied to the phantom writer. She and I mostly just talk about how my novel is going (I'm not giving you details, since this is about my life, not my book.), how the search for a pen name is going, and about her three kids. I've only met the youngest, and I swear that the kid is a spelling prodigy. She's amazing with words, and I always like to pick out tough ones for her. She's only stumbled once, and that was on Professor Zexion.

"My love life? More like lack thereof… I've never had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Or a combination of the two. I don't know which way I go. For all I know, I could be tri-sexual. No, I do not know what the DELIGHTFUL third party would be! Well, that girl in the bakery downtown that I mentioned earlier; she's pretty, and she's flirted with me countless times, but I don't really know how to approach her. Or if I would even want to approach her. No, I don't watch a lot of television. Often times, the situations portrayed on there aren't at all accurate to everyday life. Anybody else? Well, Axel's friend Demyx is really nice, but I'm not prepared to look into that at all. I'd sooner look into dating the bread that the bakery girl sells to me. Wait, strike that. It sounded kind of creepy to me.

"Her name? I think that it's Emma or something close. What she looks like? A brunette. She's one of the people that I've seen with two different colored eyes. One is green and the other is blue, and she's not afraid to show them. I kind of have this strange admiration for her bravery about showing them. I really do wish that I had that kind of confidence to go out into the world with a smile on my face and that kind of hope in my heart. But I don't. I'm just that meek writer with two different eyes, three plus years of memories, and a retarded (meaning slow) social life.

"Wait, how can that be "emo"? What does it mean? Emotive?! That's not emotive! That's self-loathing! Okay, I don't loathe myself. I do like my life, I really do. I just suppose that it could be so much richer. There are so many questions that have yet to be answered, and I've just been sitting here in my room being frustrated about it. Yes, it's true that I've never made an attempt to even try to find out about what happened. Well, I guess you could count this interview as an attempt. There's bound to be somebody who'll find me and know how to help me. I'm just hoping that it won't turn out like one of those horribly cliché sci-fi or adventure movies.

"Do I have any ideas? Like I said, it might've been "spontaneous amnesia." But that doesn't even seem like a real medical term. When I'm sick? Oh, I've just go to a free clinic when I get sick or something. Axel's my best friend, and nobody understands me better than he does, so he lets me use his name if I have to fill out a form or get a prescription. He knows that I'd never use his name with ill intentions. We're pretty platonic, actually. Before Roxas, which was also before I was aware, he'd cling to me quite often; always holding my hand or playing with my hair or something clingy. He returned the favor by not asking questions. Now, he does that to Roxas. I don't mind the loss, since I was never aware of it. Now, he kind of radiates similar emotions to me, but in a brotherly or best friend-y manner. I think of him as a brother. So, like I said, platonic.

"Jealous of him and Roxas? Nah. Right now, I'm more focused on developing my novel and my life. I don't really have time to get green over them. Sure, it'd be nice, but I like to think that I run on different wavelengths than them and don't require that kind of mutual love. No, that does not sound rehearsed! Somehow, I become more verbose as I get into talking. It's just how I'm wired.

"My source of income? Well, I sold the apartment to Axel when he first moved in, which was to pay for all his free rent, so I have that in a savings account under his name. Also, I'm pretty much his maid, chef, personal shopper, and substitute mother. He pays me for that, and lets me live here. It's a strange arrangement, and it can get very degrading at times (I was once forced to wear a French maid's dress and feather duster while dusting the furniture. I rightfully told him that he could take the feather duster and PUT IT BACK IN ITS PROPER PLACE ALONG WITH OTHER CLEANING IMPLEMENTS. Another time, he made me wear a chef's hat when we made a birthday cake for Roxas. That one was actually beneficial, since it kept the hair off my face and out of the cake.), but it gives me something to do all day rather than wasting away in my room.

"You seriously want me to describe my room for all the readers? Why can't you do it?! Yeah, yeah, my story and everything. Okay. I've always had this room, even before I was conscious, and I was really happy with my decorating skills as a zombie. I call myself a zombie because I pretty much existed without a soul or a personality. I was, in many senses, an emotional zombie. Anyway, I haven't changed much since I was aware. There are lots of papers and manuscripts and just overall papers scattered around, which is how I like it. Granted, I'm pretty unorganized most of the time, but I don't really care. I've pretty much covered the walls in sticky notes. I didn't try to do it this way, but they're in a tessellated pattern with one inch between them all. Well, the amount of space sometimes varies, since I can't be precise when I just eyeball it, but you get the gist of this. I don't have a selected color for them all. I just get whatever is on sale at the time. Or what I'm in the mood for. So far, I've used yellow, blue, pink, orange, bright blue, green, and bright orange. I have a new pack of black ones that I'll have to use a gel pen on, but that'll be a cool effect. Color scheme of the room? Mostly blue, gray, black, and purple. The same goes for my clothing, although there are exceptions. The carpet is this horrible beige color, though. I mostly keep it covered with papers and stuff.

"My desk in the corner is made of oak, but it's stained to look like cherry. There's a ton of coffee stains and water marks. I usually leave my coffee cup on there, but Axel ventures in here once every other day to collect it to go in the dishwasher. My computer, which resides on the desk, is the only light source that I like to use. I occasionally use the fixture light, but not too often. My bed is probably the only part of my room that I like to look kempt. I sleep about six or seven hours each night (Or day, if I'm on a roll with my writing), so I have plenty of time for making it. My days aren't exactly packed to the brim… Overall, my room smells like dust, paper, and razorblades. No, I do not cut myself! It just smells that way. I've found that dust and paper have a rather metallic smell. The same goes for blood, grass, and razor blades. I've only smelled blood because I get more paper cuts than the average person. So shut up.

"Oh yeah; there's a decent collection of cobwebs in here. I've never bothered to clean them out, even though I get Axel to always kill the spiders. I don't like those things. They're just really creepy… Anyway, I have a high ceiling, probably twelve or thirteen feet. The cobwebs thrive at nine or above, so it looks fantastic during Halloween time. I guess they add to the "artist in anguish" look, although I'm not really an artist or in anguish.

"What I like to read? Oh no. You're not on that tangent again, are you? Hrmph. You'll think I'm crazy, but I like to read what's called fan fiction. Fans of a particular series, like a television show or movie or book, write their own stories that are based on the original story. They can do almost anything, since it's from their imagination. They may create different endings, pair characters together for romance, create a different storyline altogether and use the same characters, whatever. Some are terrible, but there are some that are simply fantastic. I've never tried my hand at writing them, since I'd stray from the original storyline and make it my own, but they are very fun to read. I like reading real books, though. I lack my own reading list, so I usually follow what Oprah tells me to do and just go off of her reading list. I thought her judgment was off when she chose The Secret.

"Other things I like to do aren't that great. I enjoy cooking a lot. Sometimes, Axel and I take a bus to Central Park and do charcoal sketches of people. Rarely, we hand them out and earn a few bucks. Those days are usually in the summer when we're bored. Axel likes to knit sometimes, so I have a guilty pleasure of going to a yarn shop in Manhattan for him and picking up supplies. The old women that run it like to chat with me about how people come in all the time complaining about how their knitting has gone awry. The most frequent issue is people coming in and complaining about two skeins of yarn being slightly different in color. You'd think that more people know that it's essential to check the dye lot number, but they don't.

"Anything else? No, that's about it. I guess that you're done with the life of… Professor Zexion. I'll be in contact with you when the story comes out, correct? Very good. It actually has been fun talking with you. I thought that it'd just seem like a one sided thing where I would talk the entire time about my lack of a past that I know of. Anyway, you have my phone number and address. I shall be seeing you!"

* * *

He shook the woman's hand, letting her soft skin linger upon his for a moment.

She faintly smelled of ginger and tea leaves, which he though was pleasant and fitting of a woman like her. She smiled brightly, revealing large, albeit slightly crooked, white teeth. Zex smiled back, showing smaller, equally white teeth. Their hands parted, hers sorry for the loss. She looked up into his one visible eye, noticing how it did seem to eschew a look of wisdom, but lacked distrust. He had poured his soul out to her that day, and she knew that she was suddenly one of the few that were trusted.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get your name," he asked, holding his hand out in a manner than suggested she would hand him a name tag or pile of wooden blocks dictating her title.

"Oh, sorry. I'm Celia Walker. Here, I'll give you my card." She reached down to the ground to pick up her purse, a worn old canvas tote that was supposedly "eco-friendly." She rummaged through, suddenly pulling forth a typical woman's wallet. She undid the metal clasp, flipping the top up and produced a small rectangle of green cardstock. It had little bits of color on the blank side, indicating that the paper was recycled and beneficial for the earth. She held the card between two fingers while simultaneously closing her wallet and stuffing it back in her purse. Extending her arm, she gently placed it in his upturned palm. "Even though you enjoy calling yourself Zex, I really like the sound of Zexion. Zex only seems like a nickname."

He took the card, glancing at the print. The ink was not as black as normal printer ink. He scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion.

"That's soy ink. It's better for the environment than normal ink," she indicated to her name in the faded print. He thought it looked as good on paper as it sounded out loud.

"You seem to enjoy the eco-friendly products. Do you have a metal water bottle too?" He asked, realizing that small talk was a lot easier than Axel had let on.

"I do, in fact. How astute of you. I bet you're going to assume I own an electric car as well, right?" she countered.

"Actually, I was going to say bicycle. Would I be wrong?" he chuckled in return.

"No, you wouldn't. I'm too poor to get an electric car, or even a car at all! Being a magazine columnist doesn't come with the greatest pay. But I love my work, so I stay with it." She laughed at how silly she sounded. Zexion (He had suddenly changed his name. Permanently.) laughed along too, admiring hers. It was loud and clear, like a bell on a chilly morning in April. They stepped out of Zexion's room, still chattering on about recycled materials this and biodegradable that, when he opened the front door of the airy loft for her. She stepped into the hall, then turned back to face him. She smiled again, letting him openly return the gesture.

Before he had a chance to bid her good day and close the door, she swiftly stepped forward and hugged him. It was a bold risk that she took, but since Zexion ("Oh, it just sounds so _pretty_.") had opened up and let her in, it felt like the only thing she could do to reciprocate.

"Thank you for the interview, and I hope that you have good luck on your novel, you life, and talking to that girl at the bakery," she mumbled into his shoulder. Conveniently, she was several inches shorted than his grand height of five feet and seven inches.

"Y-yeah. Thanks for listening to me, and good l-luck on writing your article." He stumbled over his words a bit, not used to being hugged by attractive, intelligent women. His arms slowly snaked around her and stopped to rest on the small of her back. For a moment, he could have sworn that she let out a contented sigh. But he was probably wrong. That was just her exhaling because he had brought her body closer to his. _Had to be._

Soon, she unwound herself from his arms and patted his right cheek warmly. Then, even more boldly than before, she gently pushed his hair out of his eyes to get a full view of his heart shaped face. He tried to back away, but brought her with him, since he had forgotten to remove his arms from the back of her torso.

"Hold still! I wanna see your face!" she commanded. He stopped struggling, for fear that she would conk him on the head with her canvas bag. Her eyes searched his, though only one could search hers. She blinked curiously at his features, deeming them worthy of a cover for the male equivalent of _Vanity Fair _or _Vogue_. Soft skin, perfectly arched eyebrows, cheek bones to die for, and his eyes. Oh God, his eyes were gorgeous. The exact image of each other, yet asymmetrical in just the right way. She stared at the milky blue color of the right one, a smile slowly dawning upon her lips.

She let the hair fall back into place as she began to rummage though her purse for the second time. Zexion quirked an eyebrow, hoping that it wasn't something girly. She pulled out a small makeup bag, confirming his fears. Slowly unzipping it, and prolonging the moment, she brought out five bobby pins. Dropping the purse and makeup bag, she set to work on pinning back his exaggerated bangs.

"You should pin your hair back. It shows off your eyes, which complement each other so well. And I want you to smile more, since it makes you look really cute." He blushed as her chest brushed over his while she worked. He could almost smell her shampoo…

"There. See? You look fantastic." She finished and pointed in the general direction of a mirror that Axel had hung on the wall for decoration. Zexion peered at his reflection, and was surprised at how good he looked.

"Wow. That's… amazing. Where did you get those things?" he indicated to the pins in his hair, which now seemed to restore some vigor to his personality.

She giggled at his stupidity. "At about any drugstore in existence."

"Oh." He continued to stare at himself, puzzled at how he hadn't thought of something like bobby pins before.

"Anyway, I should be going…"

"Oh, yes, of course!" Dammit! He didn't want to sound so eager to get rid of her. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"So, I'll call you if I need some clarification or more info or anything. Maybe even a second interview, if needed. And I will definitely be in contact with you when the story is finished. I'll send you an advanced copy so you can frame it or something. If my boss likes this enough, we'll get some pictures of you for the article." She babbled as she stepped into the hallway, turning to shake his hand once more. They shook, his palm slightly sweatier than before. Why was this girl, this woman, making him so nervous?!

They exchanged words of goodbye and parted. He closed the door to the loft, she ambled to the elevator. That was it. They were done for now. It was over.

Axel peeked out from behind his bedroom door, smirking at Zexion's new look. "Well, don't you look spiffy. Any other beauty secrets shared between you two?"

"Shut up. All we did was talk for the interview. She was the one that hugged me and played hair dresser," he grumbled in return.

"Wait, she _hugged_ you? You never let me hug you! No fair!" Axel pouted, making a mountain out of a very large molehill.

"She's a special case. She could be the one that leads me to getting my past back. Therefore, she's allowed to hug me."

"Hmph. Well, I guess that I'm not needed anymore!" He turned on heel and stamped back into his room, slamming the door for good measure. Zexion sighed and paced towards the window. He saw Celia unlocking her bike from a tree that was growing in a planter along the sidewalk.

Suddenly, with a strange burst of courage, Zexion threw open the window and called out into the street. "Celia!" He waved down at her, easily grabbing her attention, as well as that of three other pedestrians. "Would you like to go out some time?"

She laughed at his proposal, making Zexion visibly droop. "It took you long enough!" He perked up, beaming at her like Skittles had just been named as their own food group with a reccomended daily value of fifteen or more servings. He quickly grabbed a nearby stack of sticky notes and a pen, writing down the name and address of a restaurant that he knew, as well as a date within the week and a time. He tore off the note and slipped it under the clip on the pen, then threw it out the window down to her. She easily caught it, then grinned up at him, mounted her bicycle, and pedaled up the street.

Oh yeah. The writing the novel and getting his life together could so wait a while.

* * *

**D'Claim'r: **Okay, really. If I did own Square Enix, Skittles, Vanity Fair, or Vogue, do you think I'd spend my time puttering around with _fanfiction?!_ No, I wouldn't. I would do wonderous things. Horrid, but wonderous things...

On a side note, I didn't explain how Celia looked because I wanted people to imagine her in their own way, maybe even as themselves. Granted, I imagined some archetypical earth-muffin New Yorker with thick-rimmed glasses, but that's not the point.

So, if you want to review, the go ahead. I don't expect much. But that's so I don't get disappointed. Anyway, I'm glad that you read this far. Bai.


End file.
